TGIF
by Molten-Ashes
Summary: Jazz unintentionally makes both Carly's and Prowl's Friday night that much more difficult.


Disclaimer: I don't own Transformers

Please R&R

(Crack! Looked over by the lovely Ice Fata. I hope you all enjoy!)

* * *

In all likelihood, it probably wasn't the best idea to have 'attention span of a goldfish' Jazz drive her to her friend's house. She had felt bad about phoning up the racing Porche when Bumblebee was otherwise engaged and explained to the amused mechanical alien that her car had fallen apart at the last possible second and that she had no money on hand for a taxi until she reached an ATM.

But now, several states away in the middle of the desert standing by a giant cactus at midnight waving her phone around and trying to get at least one bar of signal, she seriously regretted not just phoning and cancelling the girls night out.

"I'm sorry Carly-girl," the black and white visored mech attempted to apologise for the hundredth time that night, wheels crackling to and fro over dust and rocks just off the lonely highway into oblivion, the car sunk low and dejected on its suspension.

"Jazz, my friend lives half an hour out of town, how the hell did we end up in the middle of a desert?" The blond haired woman snapped, clambering up on a rock with her new shiny red three inch heels so that she could attempt to stretch for a signal.

"I took the directions you gave me Carly." The Autobot trying not to sound indignant, 'hell hath no fury like a woman' he had learned. "I just didn't shorten it to earth miles and meters that's all."

"I fall asleep for ten minutes..." Spike's girlfriend grumbled to herself leaning on a rock pinnacle, balancing on one shoe as she relieved her foot of the other so that she could try and preserve their glossy look for another time, rattle snakes and beasts of the night be damned.

"Four hours, twenty minutes and fifteen seconds actually... I will be quiet now." The giant robot car trailed off spotting the glare from his human friend as he transformed. "Wow, we did come along way!" He whistled helm twisting in every direction in an attempt to see civilisation.

"That's it." Carly sighed, slumping to the rock face on her backside, party dress leaving a sequin trail on the grit covered face of the orange rock as she slid down it. "I'm never travelling by Cybertronian ever again."

"Your GPS's aren't exactly the best Carly. Did you know I almost toppled into a river thinking it was a road?" Jazz shrugged, holding what looked to be the newest version of the SatNav held between two massive fingers, a thin cable linking the device and Jazz's helm, "The lady talking on it could be a bit more cheery too, who did they get to voice her? A prison guard?"

"It's still being developed Jazz." The woman said shaking her head in exasperation, "and you can change the voice you know."

"I know, I tried to get Prowl to upload his voice for me." The Third In Command pouted, shaking his little gadget as if it was the source of all his frustrations. "He broke it during our... Uh... argument and Wheeljack glued it back together for me. He must have tweaked the internals to show Cybertronian measures of distance. Hence, our lovely little predicament."

"You can't blame Wheeljack for your lack of common sense, nor your complete lack of any sense of direction." Carly spat, leaning forward to massage her toes and the ball of her foot through the dust that clung to her skin coloured tights. "How in gods name do you even survive on your 'Super Secret Missions?"

"Prowl is a good Tactician." The Porsche shrugged casually. "He micro manages everybody down to the nano-second. We are kind of sloppy when we do it ourselves."

Carly made a vague sound of frustration, chewing on her bottom lip, "I need alcohol." She bemoaned finally.

"Bad luck Carly-girl," Jazz chirped, disconnecting his device and throwing it casually into a subspace pocket, it would probably make a fun bomb if he and Wheeljack toyed with it later. "I only have High Grade on me."

"Jazz, it is at this point in time I have to remind you that you are a super advanced robotic alien creature." Carly hinted, her brow twitching in what was now becoming a habit when it came to the bots and their outlandish perceptions of her world.

"Yeah, we are pretty cool, right?" The music loving robot grinned, bobbing his helm to his internal music.

"One would think you'd be able to, say... Hack a satellite, or boost a signal..." The blond continued, fury running in every letter.

"Uh-huh, It's as easy as venting." The black and white Porche smiled, still oblivious to everything that wasn't his beats.

That is, he was oblivious until an innocent desert lizard that Carly had accidentally grabbed instead of the rock she had been aiming for, splatted against his visor. "So do it you stupid machine!"

 **===The ARK===**

 **==Prowl==**

That very early morning, Prowl wandered through the ARK, frowning into his data-pad, typing out his report while on his way back to his office after a brief interlude spent with Smokescreen playing an intense game of the Cybertronian version of poker, complete with a loaded gun, a flamethrower and several shots of oil.

He was not however, expecting a call to be forwarded onto his terminal when he reached the darkened office, the screen lighting up the space with a white light that spotlighted the softly glowing crystal plants lining his back wall, shimmering all colours of the spectrum.

"This is Prowl." He answered, jabbing a few keys on his way past to his filing cabinet as the automatic lights stuttered on.

"Hey Prowler!" Came the cheerful voice of the ARK's resident Third in Command. "Guess where I am!"

"Please tell me you are not dangling off the Golden Gate Bridge after getting tangled in your own grappling hooks again." Prowl pleaded blandly, not bothering to turn to the screen as he flicked through dividers in his cabinet.

"That was one... No... Three times Prowl." Jazz protested with a whine, "I'm stuck in the middle of the desert this time!"

Prowl scowled, throwing a cold glare over his shoulder and doorwing at the screen where Jazz was grinning like a loon freshly released from the mental asylum. "And bots wonder why I lock you in the brig when you are on base. This UPFAS condition is becoming more habit than accident."

"And yet you love me." Came the predicted reply as he turned back to his console and sank into his specially designed chair, his doorwings shuddering in bliss against the cushioned rests that rose to meet them.

"So what poor soul have you dragged into your schemes this time?" He sighed unable to deny the statement, putting out a private alert to Skyfire, who responded with an urgency, unbefitting the situation.

"Carly," Jazz chirped happily, "She's currently trying to hack my shin plating to bits with a desert rocks, her heels are apparently to valuable to use on me."

The tactician grumbled to himself under his breath acidly as he relayed coordinates to a patiently waiting Skyfire, "Just when I was about to get off shift too."

 **==Optimus==**

 **==Two hours later==**

His tactician was in a bad mood.

Well, an even worse one than usual, because Prowl was always grumpy in the mornings coming off of a late shift. Which now that he thought about it really should be amended in the rosters if he didn't want another incident with Sideswipe being strung up by his horns in the Rec-Room for pulling a prank on the recharge deprived Officer.

But the black cloud of vicious energy that the Praxian was giving off was beginning to look almost tangible as he gave a clipped briefing of the night cycle activities.

"Prowl, is everything okay?" He ventured, his courage wilting in the face of such a distasteful and condescending look that he was sure even the Matrix winced in his chest.

"Perfectly peachy." The black and white mech spat, his monotone laced with a knife edge, "Jazz is confined to the brig until he can defuse a bomb while solving a fourteen dimensional puzzle with a grace reflecting his standing as an officer and as an elite saboteur. Again."

"You do realise that I need him for that meeting with the President this afternoon right?" He tried, a measured look pinning him to his chair.

"Not my problem, you run this army during Monday's, Tuesday's and Saturday's while I run it the rest of the time. It stopped being Friday hours ago." Prowl snapped, slamming down the rosters upon his Prime's desk. "Good day and Good Night, Optimus Prime."

With that, the Praxian stormed from his office.

"Yeah, I really need to amend those rosters." Optimus sighed, chuckling softly to himself when he saw a doodle of both himself and Jazz in the corner of the data screen hanging from the rec-room ceiling by their audials.


End file.
